


Free

by shinetheway



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: 1960s, Handholding, M/M, Marvel 616 (Freeform)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 16:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2514926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinetheway/pseuds/shinetheway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The minute Steve stepped out onto the street, he was sure this was a mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://890fifth.tumblr.com/post/100830564470/thecomicsvault-tales-of-suspense-75-march) on 890 Fifth St. My first ever Steve/Tony fic! [twitches nervously] Well, ficlet, at least. Much thanks to Teyke for the prompt and for fic-sprinting with me, and to Sineala for her wonderful beta. Any mistakes that remain are definitely my own. This is set in the 1960s, as per the prompt.

The minute Steve stepped out onto the street, he was sure this was a mistake.

He used to fit in. New York in his own time was full of three piece suits or workmen’s dungarees, buttoned-up shirts and carefully brushed hats. He’d worn what everyone else wore—even if his suit was badly fitted and his hat was cheap and never quite kept its shape. He knew the rules, how to dress for polite society, and he followed them. He fit in.

New York now was women wearing mini-skirts and tiny tops, long-haired men wearing undershirts, and no one wore a hat except men even older than he was. It all looked strange and he didn’t know the rules anymore and he didn’t fit in any longer, even though he looked like he did. Every time he left the mansion, he always had his costume on underneath his street clothes, reminding him who he was, what he was really doing here. He always had something secret about him, something hidden.

If that wasn’t a metaphor, he didn’t know what was.

But this time he was just wearing a pair of trousers and an undershirt. He still looked like everyone else on the street, but he felt…different.

He walked slowly down the street, felt the wind on his bare arms. He wasn’t carrying his shield, and that alone made him feel almost naked, unbalanced--but it was much more than that. Every breath seemed to come a little more freely, without scale mail under his shirt. His trousers felt loose, the freshening breeze briefly plastering them against his legs before subsiding, and he shivered briefly even though the sun was hot and he was starting to sweat.

Tony stepped towards him, from where he’d been sheltering beneath an awning. “Looking good for an old man,” he drawled, and Steve smiled.

“Thanks,” he said dryly, and Tony smirked, flicked a pair of sunglasses on with a practiced gesture.

“You ready?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, and walked forward. When Tony’s fingers slid down his forearm, over bare skin, to take his hand, he shivered again and held on.

Tony’s hand was warm and tight against his palm. It felt like freedom.


End file.
